Ransom X

by I.B. Holder

  Chapter 51 Catch Up

  Legacy paced in front of the “mission control” setup of Tyke’s that NASA would envy. The elegant curve of an eggshell made up the front of his designer workspace. Tyke fused with the computer controls around him, and wasted no energy moving around in his space on a four caster stool attached on rails that let him glide silently from station to station.

  They were reaching the end of the three and a half hours and Legacy, buried in Blue’s persona scowled in triumph each time he called out a new position on the grid. But doubt began to climb into the lower chambers of his consciousness. Was three and a half hours really the cut off point, or had Blue always simply found his victim in this window? Had he missed a fleeting image that could possibly be Blue’s perfect fit? They could always go back over each video feed again and again, but given the fact that riders had already been dispatched in pursuit of the girl, time was of the essence. Indecision could easily turn this into the foolish sidetrack venture that Wilkes had pointed out in the conference room. Legacy’s concerns didn’t end there. He worried that he would fixate on some aspect of the girls that he personally considered perfect. His own personality threatened this hunt as much as the limitations of mimicking Blue. One slip out of Blue’s mind frame and the picture would not emerge. They had to get it right on the first time through, that’s what Blue had already done.

  And while others might have become tentative and unsure coming into the last minutes before 8:30, Legacy called his last shots with detached confidence. Tyke practically collapsed onto his keyboard as the alarm sounded, indicating the time was up. Sweat made his shirt cling to his body; he was drained physically and mentally. He looked like he’d ridden a stage of the Tour de France while playing a Russian grandmaster of chess at the same time.

  “That was intense, dog.” He said with raised fist, like a great realization had been made. “I need some Sunny D.”

  He barely recognized Legacy’s voice; it froze him in his tracks.

  “When we’re done.” Legacy slid the stool across the floor, tapping the back of his knees and causing him to fall into his seat. “Dog.”

  “I’m feeling you.” He replied sensing Legacy’s presence beginning to return.

  They went through the saved images, restoring each one in full screen to get a better picture. Two hours passed. A blunt nod meant the girl had passed the first test, a shake of the head meant she was erased.

  After a bathroom break, Legacy noticed stains down Tyke’s shirt and the smell of tangerine wafted into the room. Legacy’s fist clenched. Normally he would think nothing of an unscheduled break, but in Legacy’s current state, mimicking Blue’s every tick, he had to restrain himself from slapping Tyke silly. Instead he cracked his knuckles hard. The look of discomfort from Tyke made him feel a little better.

  Three more passes and Legacy was happy, he’d whittled it down to only those trophies that Blue would surely notice. Tyke noticed that he hadn’t only picked the beauties of the bunch. “You passed on some pretty fine ladies.”

  “How many are left?” Legacy croaked. He knew the number he was looking for: it was one.

  “Seventy-two.” Tyke read the counter.

  He’d gone through all of the criteria and he was 71 off his ideal. “That’s too many.” Legacy moaned. “Blue picked one, why can’t I see it, with that same certainty? He wants strength, he wants rebellion, the kind of mind – “ a sudden question made him veer off topic. “Are any of these girls famous?”

  Tyke replied, “I recognize three, one of them was my wallpaper –”

  Legacy interrupted, “Don’t tell me which” he knew the dangers of beginning an experiment presupposing the end. In interrogation there is no worse sin than expecting a result. An interrogator that pushes for an answer usually gets it, but most of the time it isn’t worth a damn. If they wanted the interrogators ideas instead of the captives, they’d turn the lamp around and ask him what he thinks. Legacy wanted an answer so bad that he could supply it himself if he weren’t careful.

  Tyke looked like he needed some clarification and a shower, but Legacy only had time for one.

  He began “It’s just like in physics when they tried to prove that light was a wave, they proved it, and when another group of scientists got together and designed an experiment to show that light was a particle, they proved that, too.”

  “You sound like you need a light beer.”

  “Neither group got the answer completely right, that’s why I don’t want you to tell me which of the girls are famous, just keep them playing in a loop. I need to get this answer completely right.”

  The phone rang, Legacy looked at the receiver annoyed that it would enter their conversation uninvited. Tyke moved to pick it up, giving an excited excuse along the way, “It might be Kelly.”

  Legacy waved him off, turning his attention back to the screen. The pictures flashed before him. Who did he most want to dominate, diminish and destroy? Who would entertain him most watching the struggle between her own identity and the one he would cruelly impress upon her? He tried to recreate Blue’s needs within himself, the need for other people to validate his position of power.

  A voice broke his concentration, “Legacy, it’s for you.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s your daughter.”

  A singsong squeal of saccharin delight greeted his ear. “Daddy.” Her tone reminded Legacy of a pistol firing.

  “Let me guess, auto-dial in my study.”

  Chess continued as if he’d said nothing. “It was so nice of you to have me picked up after class by your friends.”

  Legacy imagined her sitting in a room with two immaculately dressed agents. Dark suits, dark demeanors, and loaded weapons, the assurance kept him focused, but he didn’t think Chess would appreciate it.

  “And coding me A05 was so – considerate.” A05 was code that spanned key witness to fugitive; it influenced the amount of security and conduct of the detail guarding her. It was supposed to keep her from having access to a phone. Chess continued like she was continuing Legacy’s chain of thought. “And it looked like I was being arrested by six officers, in front of my friends! What a common mishap between a teenage girl and her peers!’

  “I’m sorry, I needed to – do something and I couldn’t leave you alone.” Legacy explained.

  Chess forced nonchalance “And you have me under house arrest? That is not normal, you are not normal, and I’m OK with that until “not normal” turns into this. I don’t even know what this is. So I don’t know that I’m OK.”

  “Don’t blame yourself.” Legacy said evenly.

  “I blame you. And don’t try to undercut me by agreeing with me.”

  The maturity of her tone bit into him like no tantrum could. “You know, my friends, by the age of 15, they’ve all said fuck you to their parents, most of them out loud. And they all keep waiting for me – it’s considered the modern right of passage. Well I’ve never even thought it – but guess what?”

  Silence on the other end of the receiver, followed by a dial tone.

  Chess slammed down the receiver then turned to a young agent sitting across the room, hiding a smile. “Is there any rule about smoking?” He shook his head. “Does anyone have a cigarette?”

  Moments later she took a long drag, which burned down deep into her lungs. Her body tensed wanting to expel the foreign substance in a coughing and sputtering fit, but she held it down in an act of sheer will. She wouldn’t be embarrassed again today. She caught a glimpse of the young agent watching her out of the corner of an eye. He looked away, sounding amused. “First time?”

  She exhaled slowly and let the air clear, knowing that her speech would sputter otherwise. “I’m a dangerous fugitive, can’t you tell? I’ve been doing things like this all of my life. Now I’m going to my room where I’ll be hatching a plot to overthrow the government, and my first act after the coup will be to fire you.”

  Chess
had to pass by the agent, and as she got closer she could feel her skin glowing from the embarrassment of being rude to him. She tugged her hair around her ear in a self-conscious gesture, if she didn’t look at him, everything would be OK. Two steps and she would be past him, she glanced up to check her own math and found herself staring at him. Blonde hair, tall, with a boyish face. The glow turned into a full bloom of red when he mumbled. “Aren’t you just something?” The vagueness of the words and the slight drawl on the vowel sounds left her breathless. Chess found poetry in the delivery of the words whether it was intended or not. His voice went up and down her spine, round trip in a heartbeat, interfering slightly with her motor skills as she scuffed both feet and lurched forward almost falling not once, but twice. It ruined her plans to level a judgmental stare at him, and at the last moment she switched to a perturbed inward pout. The problem with the pout was that, she couldn’t look at him to see the reaction without ruining the effect. Chess suddenly had a deep need to be perceived as a malcontent, and she had absolutely no idea why.

  She would learn later in life in the trial and error of dating that it was because this attitude got the most attention from men who wanted to be challenged, but in her first brush with the blonde agent, it came naturally. The hall door shut behind her and her brain was like an FM dial flipping from static to music then back to static to music, drowning out her recent anger.